My Current Situation...

Here is my current lot in life, and I can't say I'm very happy about a lot of it.

Let me start with the positive, though: I really love Not-the-Daddy. I can see why Daddy is so attached to her. She's caring and cuddly and FUN! She feeds me most of time these days, and also picks up my poop. What greater expression of love is there for a human towards a canine? Not-the-Daddy also plays with me more than Daddy does. But he's the Alpha, so I understand that he has to be more serious so he doesn't lose his position. Daddy always refers to her as "Mommy," and I think I finally now understand the concept of "Mommy" as it differs from "Daddy." Here's what they actually mean: "Daddy" is the name for the #1 top dog and "Mommy" is the name for his bitch. I guess the human word is "mate" or "partner"... kind of a #1.5 Alpha, I guess. I'm still #2 in this home, by the way, just like I've always been. But I'm now going to start referring to the female human as "Mommy." 

Moving on to the bad stuff:

First of all, Mommy brought home this other dog last April, and Daddy did nothing to stop it. I was pissed for a long time. Her name is "Lola," and when I first saw her, my heart actually skipped a beat because she looked so much like my long-lost "brother," Beau. But she's a lot scrawnier and schitzo-ier than Beau ever was. They're both full-blooded Treeing Walker Coon hounds, and it's amazing how she and Beau have a lot of the same traits. For instance, they both always walk around with their noses in the air... like they were better than everyone else. This, of course, is bullshit, because I rule in this house. And believe me, I made sure Lola knew who was in charge pretty darn quickly. And tell me: what self-respecting hound keeps its nose in the air? The mark of a good hound is that it has its nose stuck to the ground all the time, like a good vacuum cleaner.

Lola

Lola's main redeeming feature is that I can open a can of whoop-ass on her at will, and she'll back down. Except when food is involved, and then she stands her ground. When she first came to us, she was starved. I mean, you could see each of her ribs pretty clearly. So even though she's filled out around the middle now, I think she's still hypersensitive about food. I feel badly that she was once so hungry. Still, I know that if I had to, I could take her down. And I have to admit that over time, she's kind of wormed her way into my heart since she's so gullible. I have such fun with her. I can make her squirm and fidget just by looking at her. And if I feel like piss and vinegar and running around the house wildly, Lola is the first to sign up and join in on the mischief. I wonder if I stared at her long enough and meanly enough if I could get her to pee on herself... it's something to think about trying someday.

The next negative thing was that Daddy and Mommy started to foster dogs in our home. The first one they brought in was this squirt named "Buddy," Boy, was he a filthy, stinky, matted little runt of a punk. He once tried humping me, but I opened the can on him immediately and he proceeded to keep a lot of distance between me and him ever since. He did continue to hump Lola, though. After a few days, Daddy and Mommy cleaned him up and found a home for him, so he was no longer a problem.

Buddy, before and after...

Then a month later, Daddy brought home Annie, our next foster, and my life has been a living Hell ever since...

Anastasia, a/k/a "Annie"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!," sang the heavenly choirs as this one-eyed bitch walked into the house. And I have to say, I was a little freaked out by it. I mean, this dog had a halo around its head, angel wings coming out its back, and invisible voices were singing wordless hymns of praise. It was freaky. I gave her a wide berth for quite a while.

Daddy and Mommy kept dishing out the loving to her, and that was really hard to take. They tried to console me by saying that Annie had had a rough life, and that she only had six months to live because she had cancer. And because of this, they explained, they were going to keep Annie, rather than find a different home for her. So my only real consolation at this point was that this new situation would only last, at most, for half a year.

But a few weeks into her arrival, we all went to the dog park and Annie started running. No, not just running: sprinting. Now, I'm no vet... but what dog dying of cancer sprints all over the place for 10 minutes? I knew this was bullshit, and that a conspiracy was afoot. Clearly, Annie had snookered Daddy and Mommy, playing upon their incredibly kind and generous natures. But I could see how all the angelic stuff was a sham, and that when Annie looked at Daddy and Mommy, all she could see was a big, endless sugar rawhide.

I still don't know how she pulls off the wordless choir in the background, though, but I'm working on it.

Since I'm on to her, I don't give her any distance anymore. If she walks up to Daddy, I just step in and push her out of the way. If she tries to get up on the bed, my eagle eye sees it, and I jump up on it first. I watch her like a hawk. My mission in life now is to protect Daddy and Mommy from Annie until I can gather all the proof I need in order expose her wickedness.

I'll be 12 years old this Spring. These are my Golden Years, and I shouldn't have to deal with this crap. But in spite of myself, it seems my sense of canine loyalty to my Master and Mistress is greater than any personal bitterness. So I will do what my species and destiny requires...